Auseinanderfallen
by Gerald Tarrant and Quicksilver
Summary: A study of Shuldrich... and the problems being a telepath brings. The past and present collide in this exploration of the thin line between sanity and madness.


Auseinanderfallen   
By: Gerald Tarrant and Aishuu  
lordofmerentha@yahoo.com, shitsui@yahoo.com  
Disclaimer: Not ours, not ours.  
AN: Aishuu would like to thank Nin for her help with the stuff on the Berlin Wall, particular her personal perspective. Dedicated to Razzy Rain...   
  
I don't...I don't want to. I don't want to hurt you.  
Do it.  
I can't. You...you promised me.  
Do it.  
But I-  
Do it!  
Nooooooooo!  
  
  
  
  
The slam of the door and a blinding light. He panted, eyes dilating against the brightness of the sudden shock of light after the darkness.  
"Schurdich! Are you ok?"  
He swallowed, realized he was clutching the sheets in shaking, cold hands, the thin fabric wound around him as if he'd been tossing in his sleep. He was wet with sweat. He blinked again at the dark figure in the doorway.  
"Wha-what?"  
"I heard you screaming. Are you all right?" The figure took a step forward into the room and resolved itself into the small, slim figure of a teenage boy.  
"N-Nagi?"  
Nagi frowned. "Something wrong?"  
He sat up slowly, pushing the long hair back from his damp forehead. Nagi looked genuinely concerned. He had to stifle a small laugh. Concerned? For him?  
He leaned back, affected his easy, nonchalant, arrogant manner. "Nah. I'm fine. Just a bad dream."  
Nagi looked uncertainly at him. "Bad dream, huh?"  
"Yeah." Schurdich narrowed his eyes at Nagi. "What's the big deal?"  
The boy looked at him for a long moment, not moving. Schurdich could almost hear his thoughts moving. Almost. If he tried. Right now, he didn't have the strength to try.  
"You know, Schurdich, you don't have to pretend like that. Not around us. You know that."  
Before he could ask the other what he meant, Nagi was gone, closing the door softly behind him. The darkness fell back in a soft curtain around his bed where he slumped down on the sticking sheets, not bothering to control his shallow panting breaths, unable to sleep as he squeezed his eyes shut against the enroaching demons of the shadows.  
  
  
  
Schwarz.  
Fathomless darkness.  
  
  
  
  
  
He awoke to the sunlight streaming into his window. The touch of the sheets felt cool on his skin. Someone had opened the window while he slept, since he didn't remember opening it yesterday before he went to bed. He frowned. Coming into his room without permission...  
He started to sit up, then noticed the comforter fallen on the floor. He bent to pick it up. He remembered...something. Had he woken up last night? Images of Nagi, light...  
Shaking his head, he replaced the comforter on the bed and slipped out from between the sheets. The cool wind from the window was pleasant on his bare skin.   
Schurdich never wore clothes to bed. He couldn't stand the touch of coarse fabric against him while he slept. It was like...like the touch of minds against him when he didn't want them there.  
Had something happened last night?  
The wind blew leaves rustling past his window.  
Well, whatever. Nagi'd say something if something had happened. He didn't remember much.  
He never remembered much. Not anymore.  
It was easier that way.  
  
  
  
  
They were always there.   
Voices, whispering. Fit to drive him mad, though most people would say he had already crossed that boundry years ago. He was untamed, wild. Not even Esset had been able to dominate his spirit, no matter how they tried.  
Before the Berlin Wall fell, he lived on the East side of Germany. He used to walk up to the wall and stare at it, closing his eyes. He imagined he could hear the swirling thoughts of people on the other side, living happier lives, thinking happier thoughts. There was so much despair around him that he longed to find some way out.  
The Wall came down on the ninth of November. He would remember that day forever... how could he not? It was that day that had made him into what he was. It was that day that had set his feet on the path that would eventually lead to Schwartz.   
It was a Thursday. He had been eleven, and was in school, vigorously taking notes. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered; on his tests, he would swipe the answers from his classmates' minds. It didn't make sense to him to keep working on his own; but he did it anyway. Nothing better to do.  
The day was different- he could feel the tension and excitement in the air. Sometimes other people's thoughts would invade his mind, reminding him that he was different. Panic, agression, lust. Strong thoughts, primal beats of nature that wanted to overwhelm him and devour from within.  
Who was it that had said to know yourself? He lived for that principle. To draw the line between himself and others, to try to remember who "Christopher" was and who the others were. Nothing helped. Insanity loomed in his future, and there was nothing he could do about it- what was worse was that he knew it.  
There's nothing worse then knowing you're eventually going to go mad.  
It was all in his mind, people had tried telling him, and he wanted to laugh at them until tears rolled down his face, scream at them until his voice gave out, strangle them until the last spark of life fled from their eyes. Of COURSE it was all in his mind... didn't they realize what a frightening proposition that was? Didn't they understand how afraid he was of losing himself in someone else?  
Fuck them.  
  
  
  
  
Crawford didn't say anything when he walked into the living room half dressed. The American didn't even glance up, just sat with his hands folded in his lap, looking down at the floor, calm and unmoving.  
"...Nagi?" said Schurdich.  
Crawford raised his head slowly and looked at him, and Schurdich was struck by the clear gaze.  
"Good morning," said Crawford.  
Schurdich grimaced. "Don't say it if you don't mean it. Where's Nagi?"  
"All right, I won't." The tall man closed his eyes again. "Nagi left early this morning to go run some errands. I hope he is back by lunch, or else we go hungry."  
Schurdich laughed. "We always go hungry."  
Crawford didn't respond, just leaned down and picked up the morning paper lying like collapsed moth's wings by his feet, flipped to the local news page, and started reading.  
"Fine. Don't answer."  
Crawford didn't even look up.  
"I know what you're thinking!"  
Damn Americans.  
The door slammed behind him as he stepped out into the sunlight of the back balcony and he just stood there for a moment with his eyes closed, savoring the silence. Then an unpleasant nudge at the corner of his mind. He knew who that was.  
"What are you doing?"  
He didn't open his eyes.  
Hello, Farfarello.  
Reading minds again?   
Schurdich smiled lazily, curling up his lip, languid as a cat oozing its way onto the front porch.  
Didn't you know? People's thoughts taste like honey.   
Farfarello snorted. "You always say that and you don't believe it."  
"How would you know?" he retorted, stepping away from the railing and back into the dark room. Crawford was now on the sports page.  
"You hate sports."  
"Your point?"  
"What's to eat?"  
No response. He repeated his question into the silence and then gave up.  
"I'm going back to bed."  
  
  
  
  
In this world there are three things-three kinds of thoughts, other people's thoughts-you must watch out for. The first is thoughts of fear. Fight or flight response. If you mistake them for your own, you are as good as dead.   
The second is thoughts of pride, of overconfidence. You know your limits. Do not let a random tendril of someone else's thoughts worm its way into your own and trick you into starting something you can never finish.  
And the third?  
The third...your own. Your own thoughts, your own memories.  
They can destroy you.  
  
  
  
END PROLOGUE....  
To be continued- someday, maybe. 


End file.
